Paradise
by Lily Lovett
Summary: Out on the open road, Emma Swan meets a broken woman, claiming be a failed singer. AU, Swan Queen
1. Ride

Paradise

**Author:** Lilylovett

**Disclaimer:** "Once Upon A Time" the TV series © ABC and its related entities. All rights reserved. There is no profit, aside from personal satisfaction here.

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** Out on the open road, Emma Swan meets a broken woman, claiming be a failed singer.

**Notes:** Inspired entirely by Lana Del Rey's EP album "Paradise" and the song of the same name, "Ride", and its music video.

* * *

**_I. Ride_**

* * *

_I once had a dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events some of those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But I didn't really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is._

* * *

It's the summer of 2002. The sun rests in the desert sky, hot and heavy. Emma Swan has kept to her red leather, blonde mane trapped underneath a red bandana. There are men that she has traveled with, and as much as they resent her, they respect her mystery and appreciate her mechanical talent. They know Emma can fend for herself, and so after a time they just let her _ride_ among them.

"Failed pop star," The woman offers sheepishly, her ruby red lips dangerous. A tight, high ponytail of sun-kissed brunette locks, high-waisted denim shorts, and a plain white t-shirt are all too innocent for her dark eyes. Emma takes a final drag of her cigarette, considering the woman before her. She is beautiful, but so clearly damaged. Emma always takes to people that don't have their lives quite together, but this girl in particular seems different.

"Swan," Emma offers a gloved hand.

"Call me Gene," Regina takes it, and Emma bristles when she removes the glove. She turns over her palm, stroking it between smooth fingers. "Your hands are callous like theirs."

Regina nods to Emma's crew, currently sitting in a line of motorcycles in the nearly empty lot. Cicadas sound from somewhere, and the sun will begin to set, soon. Warmth in the air will soon be exchanged for dry winds. Emma feels herself melt just a little into this woman's touch. Regina stirs some long forgotten feeling.

"Are you sure about this, babe?" Emma never actually means this question. She always takes men and women whom she knows are sure. People that understand what kind of person she really is without ever needing to ask. But Regina settles in the corner of her long numbed heart. There is darkness there in Regina's pure demeanor; a shattered soul buried deeply.

"Of course, Swan," Regina replies with regal confidence. She behaves in a manner so sophisticated compared to the other girls Emma has met out on this road.

"I trust you."

"You probably shouldn't," Emma smirks. "I won't be there to scrape you up if your ass gets skinned on the asphalt."

Then Regina is leaning in, filling Emma's nostrils with the scent of sandalwood and apples. (It's a clean, earthy scent for a stripper or waitress—the kind of career Emma would have assumed Regina would be in.) But the truth of the her story, the origin of the smell of apples, isn't for Emma to know. They are only together for this moment.

But they are riding, now. Free.

It is an immaculate, unusual sensation. The sights and sounds are loud. Sand dunes rise and fall before them as the sky turns hues of pink and purple. Air whips her hair, the length of it dancing wildly from her back. Emma's crew rides ahead of them, and Regina feels a sense of protection that she has never before felt in this world. She is no longer so vulnerable, not with Emma. Gripping Emma's sides, Regina knows she's never quite been so immediately comfortable with a stranger, a person she is not destined to be with; not since Daniel...but Regina buries his name from her mind. The road stretches out, and Regina lets the past escape.

After another rest stop, the crew finds a bit of empty space to host a bonfire. Some of the other men have found their own women for the evening, and though they may not know all the details of each other's identities, families, or previous jobs (if they ever had one), this group of people are all they need to feel at home. At least for the time being. The stars above them, the cooling ground beneath them, remind Emma of being _human_, and it's why she's taken to being a vagabond.

Fire crackles, they roast hotdogs, pass around a loaf of white bread, and throw around assorted packages of Hostess sweets as a desert. Then a single bottle of whiskey still wrapped in the brown paper bag goes around, in addition to the dozen cases of beer that they've already almost powered through.

The men and women laugh, telling stores that may or may not be true, making plans for the future, being idle, and pretending that it's entirely natural to live this way. But Emma and Regina know that the moment they met, it was only a temporary life for them. Their paths were only meant to cross as a form of symbiosis: Regina finds the person to be her summer after a lifetime of winter, and Emma finds someone to be _hers_, at least for the night.

Under the moonlight, Emma is chain smoking her 27s, drinking faster and hard, even as Regina watches, her sitting between a hungry-looking man, and a woman hard cut from the fields in a farm nearby. Regina always finds Emma's eye across the fire, and they share smiles and conversations without words. Their glances alternate between bashful, austere, knowing, and flirtatious. It's a backwater romance, a _dalliance_, Regina never expected to find herself in.

Even after leaving her previous life, Regina is still at war. The rage continuing within her mind has consumed her the entire time she has walked in this world, but the anger has subsided in the presence of this other woman. It scares her to think that Emma, this person, this nobody that she will only illicit an affair with for one evening, might actually be saving her.

Eventually, they retire. Emma takes nearly twenty minutes to chain lock her bike. It is, after all, all that she really has. Regina just bites the bottom of her ruby lips, keeps her hands at her sides to prevent them from wandering. Still a bit intoxicated, Regina waits loudly, laughing to herself at an untold joke.

"So, Swan," She starts as Emma continues wrapping cords around her bike, tethering it to a metal pole. "Isn't it just a hunk of metal without the key to the ignition?"

"Gene, babe, my bike, she is everything I have," Emma nearly starts off. But after another drag of her cigarette, she softens. "If the guy knows what he's doing, my ride isn't so hard to steal. I like to play it safe when it comes to her."

"Seems nice to have a steed that doesn't mind being left out in the cold." Regina wishes she'd had a motorcycle growing up; maybe then she could have escaped the crushing spires of her castle. Though, the feeling of flight is more lonely, more selfish and personal than the concept of equestrian riding.

"You're really something, y'know that?" Emma lets Regina grab her collar, and they kiss hard. Emma tastes like beer, the metallic blend of her tobacco, and the warmth of her breath.

Somehow, they don't even make it to their shoddy motel room. They're in the corner of the empty lobby where this old pinball machine is the only source of light. Regina is not used to being seduced, but then Emma is clearly the assertive one of the two; they're shedding clothing and still biting lips and laughing in between. All that Emma really needs, though, is the giving of a zipper, and then her hands are invasive enough to push past the thin material of Regina's panties. Emma is careful to attend to the other woman's needs, adept it at what she is doing.

Regina isn't quite sure how she feels, being fucked against a pinball machine in some greasy place. She wonders if it meant the mighty have fallen, but then, her mind was lost long ago. The conflicting realities that exist in her mind and in this place, have driven her to the madness of vagrancy and pretending to sing blues tunes in down-trodden bars.

When they move to their room, continuing their string of sex and drunken play, Regina realizes that it's actually nice, here. Being pressed against a stranger, all of their salacious acts at hand, it's the first time she's ever felt less lost, less crazy in this confusing place without magic. There is something even more freeing than riding, about letting Emma take her.


	2. American

_**II. American**_

* * *

_Play house, put my favorite record on;_  
_Get down, get your Crystal Method on._  
_You were like, tall, tan, drivin' around the city_  
_Flirtin' with the girls like, "You're so pretty."_  
_"Springsteen is the king, don't you think?"_  
_I was like, "Hell yeah, that guy can sing."_

* * *

Two full weeks pass, and Regina is still riding with them. She's become a regular member of the group, a natural part of their daily life, such that the men taunt Emma and ask her if she's about to get hitched. At these sort of sentiments, Emma just gives a wistful look and laughs a little harsher than they're used to. That's why it doesn't surprise any of them when one day, Emma takes Regina by the wrist and tells her to pack her things. They take off just as the white sun begins to rise.

"Squatting? Really, Ms. Swan?" Regina quirks one of her brows, unsure, mostly because she's never done this before. Her strategies of finding shelter usually involved something a little more resourceful. But she doesn't feel unsafe, not when she's with Emma, so she follows her past the "For Sale" sign and into the little house with the white picket fence around it.

"Yeah," Emma sweeps the house, looking thoroughly into each room. "We can stay here for the night."

"Found nothing of interest?" Regina calls out from the common area.

"Not except for this." Emma bring over a black tiny boom box with a handle. "There's still a disk inside."

She pushes play, and the walls begin to vibrate with electronic sound. It's a weird kind of pulsation that the music attunes to, filled with electronic, ambient noise. Emma knows that it's not quite something Regina would be keen on, but she keeps it playing just to annoy her.

"Gotta dance to something like this," Emma takes her lover by the arms, and spins her around.

"Or do copious amounts of drugs to the point of overdose," Regina quips back, and then laughs into Emma's arms. The other woman's smile and good-natured attitude is infectious. In another life, Regina would have found it infuriating. But she just plays along.

They dance to the length of the CD, which Emma concedes does seem more meant for snorting lines than well, actually moving to. But that's how it is with Regina. They seem so often to do all of the wrong things together, to be perfectly mismatched, and it all feels okay, because they're still together.

Emma spins Regina in circles, reminds her that they are both full of youth and that they ought to have hope. Regina feels light, notices Emma's skin is a light, golden brown after the days of riding in the summertime. The house is stark empty, clean tiles and fresh carpeting, with only the reverberations of the music and their movements.

"Gene," Emma breaths in her scent, still sweating a bit from the impromptu dancing. They're both laying with their backs on the floor, bodies beside one another, only hands touching, laced together. "I got you…something."

"I bet you do this to all of the pretty girls. Flirt with them over Springsteen, buy them a few charms, take them to dinner, until they're ready to fall into your bed." Regina bites and it doesn't offend Emma one bit. Sure, that's how it was before Regina came into her life.

From her jacket pocket, Emma pulls out a dainty silver chain with a ring as its only charm. There are familiar groves in the ring, and its simplicity makes Regina's heart jump. There is deceit in the ring, Regina is sure.

"Where did you get this?"

"Hey, calm down. I thought you'd be happy. I mean, it doesn't have to mean anything, not if you don't want it." Emma winces, thinking maybe it was too much. After another beat of silence, she adds: "I didn't steal it."

"Swan," Regina turns to her, eyes filled with the same foreboding that Emma had seen the day they met. "Did you purchase this ring at some…consignment shop?"

"I've had it for a while," Emma replies, toying with the chain. "Got it from some guy…I think his name was August."

"Oh," Regina feels confusion settle in. She hadn't seen the ring since the curse rooted her to this strange world. Maybe this wasn't Daniel's at all, only a strange replica. When Emma makes the move to put it on her ring finger, there is a tingling sensation that Regina chooses to ignore. It is much weaker, but at the touch of the cool ring against her skin there is the feeling of a muted, familiar sensation: of power, of magic, of _love_.

A couple minutes of silence pass, and Regina would have assumed the other woman had fallen asleep, laying there; but the sound of her breathing was too uneven for this to be case.

"Don't be offended, Swan," Regina starts, and then nearly whispers, "It's beautiful. The ring. It just reminds me of someone from long ago."

Emma sits up then, doesn't let Regina remember or divulge further into nostalgia. She assaults Regina with her mouth, willing the sadness away. Removing Regina's red dress, heightens the mood immensely. Their bodies move beneath the growing shadows as the sun eludes them. Regina is so quick to reverse positions after Emma has had her fill; they taste and touch with an unnecessary urgency. Fingers and lips explore. (And though they have _been_ having sex, Emma always thinks that "worshipping Regina's body" would be a more appropriate term.) Their passionate, physical display of connection melts more and more into Emma's hardened heart.

In the dark of the house, Emma lights several cheap candles with a Bic lighter. Regina swipes it from the floor, taunting her.

"You really should quit smoking, dear."

"Aw, shit, I thought you were still sleeping," Emma laments. "Well, now that you're up. Could you help me figure out where to go?"

"I thought you knew," Regina replies in mock disappoint. Emma only looks over the spread out map on the floor, poring over it as if it holds all of their answers.

"What about L.A.? We could get a house there, settle down, have a dog, and 2.5 kids," She laughs, blonde hair splayed out behind her still let down from their previous escapades just a few hours ago.

"What is with this kind of tailored idealism? Is this your country's idea of happiness?" Regina's lip curls in disgust, knowing it's not the kind of life Emma really expects they'll have together, either.

"It's the American dream," Emma quips with a kind of certainty. "What? You've never heard of it?"

Regina just shakes her head, and though she had always dressed and seemed like an all American girl, Emma realizes that she must be from some foreign country. Maybe she was running away from someone or something. The mystery of Regina's past was always left as an untouched topic, much like Emma's.

"It's like this: Be young, be dope, be proud. Live in the moment, keep your drugs pure, and keep your ambitions high. America is all about having high expectations, and pretending not to be disappointed when you don't achieve them."

"Do you believe in happy endings?" Regina blurts, usually not so candid. Emma thinks (surprisingly) long and hard about her response to this question.

"It's not about the endings, is it? It's about getting there." And then she kisses Regina so suddenly, almost desperately. Emma lets Regina moan into her mouth, presses her thumb against the older woman's sex, appreciating the hiss in response. Regina is so worked up that she almost misses what Emma says in finality to the discussion: "The people you meet along the way are what matter.

* * *

**A/N:** Yep, we will see other characters soon enough. I can't go too AU with things, otherwise I feel like they're not the same characters anymore. Thanks for the reviews so far! I'm really excited about writing this story. I have an outline and hand-written drafts that I'm working on during school. (Because who needs it?)


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